Not Words
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Story written for the NFA 2011 WEE. Tim and Ducky centered. Tim and Ducky end up on the same train after work...with serious consequences. Five chapters. One per day.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**This is a 5-chapter story written for the NFA WEE (White Elephant Exchange). The story was written for tigyr and here is the prompt: _Gen…any season (except eight). Tim/Ducky…Ducky loves to tell his stories, when Tim is sick or wounded he learns to appreciate the stories and the wisdom contained within._ It's not very long and has a lot of H/C. Hope you enjoy both the story itself and Ducky's many tales which come from my own research and my own interests.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own NCIS, the characters of Tim and Ducky, the DC Metro...but I do own my soul. :) I'm not making any money off this story.

* * *

><p><strong>Not Words<br>**by Enthusiastic Fish

**Chapter 1**

Tim ran for the train. Down the stairs as fast as he could without falling and cracking his head open. It wasn't that it was the last train. It was just that he didn't want to wait for the next one. He ran and heard the chime signaling that the doors would be closing. One last burst of speed and he got on just before they closed.

He panted hard, holding onto the bars. Then, he heard some clapping and he looked up. Ducky was sitting on one of the benches.

"Well done, Timothy," Ducky said with a grin. "Carl Lewis could not have run faster."

Tim laughed and bowed.

"Thanks, Ducky."

"Have a seat."

Tim walked over and sat beside the M.E., taking another deep breath and letting it out in a whoosh.

"Why the rush?"

"Just didn't want to miss the train. I've got out of the habit."

"Where _is_ your car?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "I loaned it to Sarah. She came to town a couple of days ago...supposedly to visit _me_...but I don't think I've seen her since I picked her up from the airport...and loaned her my car."

"What a kind brother," Ducky said.

"I'm regretting it now...but I guess as long as she doesn't break it." Tim got his breath back finally and leaned back against the bench. "Still...I was hoping to see her once or twice on her visit."

"I'm sure you will...when you take her back to the airport."

Tim laughed. "What brings _you_ to the Metro, Ducky? What happened to _your_ car?"

"Oh, it's simply being looked over. With a classic car like mine, regular maintenance keeps it running. There was a slight backlog and so I am taking the train."

"But you don't live on this line, do you?"

"No. I am going to...see a friend."

Tim smiled. "What _kind_ of friend, Ducky?"

Ducky tried to look severe but he finally smiled.

"Yes, if you must know, I am going on a date."

"Who with?" Tim asked.

"Your expression is positively DiNozzian, Timothy," Ducky said. "Or perhaps Abigailian. It does not suit you."

Tim flushed. "Sorry."

"Not at all, lad. We all have our moments of curiosity."

They chatted lightly as the train headed northward on the Red Line. When it arrived at the Silver Spring station and Tim didn't make a move to get off, Ducky looked at him in surprise.

"Is this not your stop?"

"Not today. I'm getting off at Forest Glen."

"Any particular reason?"

"Not really."

_Ding-dong._

"_The doors are closing."_

Just before the doors closed, a group of four men hurried on. All of them were talking loudly with each other...and they seemed to be...perhaps a bit wired. Tim looked at Ducky in concern as the other riders began moving away from the group. They seemed to be talking about some unsavory activities and laughing loudly at everything they said. Then, the discussion started to get more vehement, more like a fight than good-natured (if noisy) ribbing between friends. Two of the men stood and started almost yelling at each other, the other two talking from their seats but no less loudly. The train kept moving, picking up speed and then, as the argument got louder, drowning out the announcer, they arrived at Forest Glen. Tim stood up just as one of the men was shoved by his companion.

He ran right into Tim, knocking them both to the floor.

"Hey! Get out of my way, man!" he shouted at Tim.

"I'm sorry. I didn't see you," Tim said, mostly because the guy was acting way too upset about a small accident. He seemed really wound up.

But the man wouldn't back off.

"I said get out of my way!"

"I'm just getting off the train," Tim said, his hands out to show himself to be unarmed. "Ducky, isn't this your stop, too?"

Ducky looked at him in surprise and Tim hoped he saw the warning. There was a flash of realization in his eyes and Ducky stood up.

"Oh, yes, of course. It is. I almost forgot."

He tried to get to the doors, but the man shoved him back down.

"No way, old man!" the man yelled at Ducky, forgetting Tim and leaning over him.

Tim hurried over and pulled the man away.

"Hey, leave him alone! Just let us off the train and we'll be out of your way!"

"Don't you touch me!" he shouted and before Tim was ready for it, the man pulled out a knife...and without hesitation stabbed him in the chest.

Tim was so shocked by the sudden turn of events that he didn't even feel anything at first. It was just a moment of surprise.

...and then his legs buckled beneath him and he fell to the floor of the train.

"Oh, man...you...you stabbed him! He's got a badge! He's a cop! You stabbed a cop, you idiot!"

Tim heard the voices and the sudden loud shouting and screaming, but he himself was just lying on the floor, trying to keep breathing through the pain was the now hitting him like a sledgehammer.

"This train doesn't move! No one move! Nobody!"

Tim tried to get up, but he couldn't. He realized that the blade was still sticking out of his chest on the right side. He moved his hand to pull it out, but then the man who had stabbed him was leaning over him.

"You after us, cop? Huh? You coming after us?"

"Not...a cop..." Tim gasped out.

"Yeah, right. I see your badge!"

"NCIS."

"He is telling the truth."

That was Ducky's voice.

"Shut up, old man!"

"He is telling the truth. We are both employees of NCIS. I am a medical examiner. He is an agent. We were heading home after work. Please, let me see if I can help him."

"NCIS...what's that?"

Ducky's voice was extremely patient considering the danger he was in.

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service. We investigate crimes within the U.S. Navy."

"So you _are _cops! Just the military!"

"Oh, man, what are we gonna do?"

"Let... everyone go," Tim said weakly. "Just... let them go. No one's dead...yet. No need to..."

"Not gonna happen, cop."

The man leaned over him again and searched him, taking his gun, his phone and his badge.

"Hey, I did _not_ sign on for this!"

"You're in it just as deep as I am! You're not getting out of it now."

The argument continued and Tim shook with the pain.

"Hey, where do you think you're going, old man?"

"He is my friend. He is injured. Please, let me go and see if I can help him."

There was a moment of silence.

"Your cause will be better served if he lives."

Another moment.

"Fine. No funny stuff."

"No. Of course not."

Then, after a second or two, Ducky was leaning over him.

"Not...quite the evening you'd planned...huh, Ducky?" Tim asked.

"Definitely not."

"Hostages?"

"Yes. There are ten people on the other side of the car. They've already signaled elsewhere that the train is not to move."

"I guess I should have...missed this train."

Ducky laughed. "At present, I must say I agree. Just stay still. Let me see how bad it is."

"There's...a knife...sticking out of my chest, Ducky..." Tim said. "How much worse could it be?"

Ducky's expression was grave. "Much worse...particularly if they won't let you off the train. We're stuck here as long as they want us to be."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Ducky was worried...about more than just Tim's injuries. The four men were arguing and were shouting at each other. The one who had stabbed Tim now had Tim's gun...which was loaded.

"D-Ducky?"

Ducky looked back down at the injured young man. Tim was trembling from the pain and the knife had more than likely punctured a lung. Tim was wheezing slightly. One of his hands moved toward the knife.

"No, Timothy. Leave it where it is."

"It...hurts...Ducky."

"I'm sure it does, lad, but if you pull out the knife, there will be nothing to control the bleeding."

"What's...going on with...them?" he asked. The hand was still near the knife.

Ducky batted Tim's hand away.

"They're trying to decide what to do, but it's not looking good right now."

"Doesn't...look good from where I'm...sitting either."

Tim's eyes squeezed shut and a couple of tears escaped.

Ducky was worried, extremely worried. Without getting him to a hospital for treatment, Tim would die...but not quickly. It would be a pain-filled, long, drawn-out death. His pleural cavity would likely fill with blood from the puncture and he would suffocate...if he didn't die from the blood loss first.

There was nothing he could do here. If he pulled out the knife, it might reduce the pressure, but the blood flow would likely increase so much as to kill Tim more quickly. Ducky hated feeling helpless, unable to do anything.

Then, one of Tim's hands flailed around a little, looking for Ducky. Ducky took his hand and squeezed gently.

"Yes, lad?"

"Nothing...you can do?"

"No, I'm sorry."

"And...you're sure...that...you can't...pull out the knife?"

"Positive."

"Then..."

"What, lad?"

"Could you...just...talk...to me?"

"About what?"

"Anything...just...to...take my mind...off it?"

Tim's hand squeezed Ducky's tightly and a whimper escaped his lips. He opened his eyes slightly and tried to smile.

Ducky smiled back.

"Would you prefer real-life reminiscences or stories?"

"What are you talking about over here?"

The angry voice startled Tim and he jumped just enough to increase his pain. He moaned.

Ducky looked up at the man. He looked to be in his mid- to late-twenties. It was not the one who had stabbed Tim. In fact, he looked more frightened than angry.

"This man is badly injured. He needs medical attention that I cannot give. Please, let him go."

"No one's leaving...especially not him. What are you talking about?"

"I was about to tell him a story to take his mind off the pain he is feeling from being stabbed in the chest," Ducky said...and was rewarded by a slight wince.

"Don't try anything."

"What could I possibly try with my friend in danger of dying?"

The man withdrew to talk to his comrades, probably telling them that these two by themselves at the end of the car were not dangerous.

"Ducky?"

"It's all right, Timothy. He has gone again."

"I'm sorry...I can't...help."

"Don't worry about it. Nothing can be done at the moment. You know...I still remember the first time I rode the London Underground."

"Really?" Tim asked.

"Yes. I was a young lad, out with my parents for a trip to London. Getting around on the Underground is the most convenient method and I was actually afraid of it. Can you believe it? I was afraid of going down into the stations. I was frightened of the turnstiles. I was frightened of the trains themselves. They were so loud and so fast. I do believe that I may have even shed a tear or two in my fright."

Tim gave a smile...which then turned into a grimace of pain. The grip on Ducky's hand tightened still more. Ducky did not try to stop Tim's grip. He simply covered Tim's hand with his own free hand and continued his story.

"Then, my mother convinced me to get on board and I did so, reluctantly. We rode on the train and I was just starting to feel as though it was akin to a carnival ride when our stop came. I got off the train and I was shocked to discover that we were not in the same station...and that when we exited the station, we were in a completely different place. I was amazed that it was possible for something like that to happen."

"What...were...you seeing?"

"You know...I can't, for the life of me, remember _where_ we were going. Strange."

Tim laughed and then began to pant. His eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling.

"...ow..." Then, he smiled.

"I realize that this will be a foolish question, Timothy, but try to answer it anyway. How are you feeling?"

"Like...I got...stabbed, Ducky."

"Be more specific."

"Feels like...every...time I take a breath...there's a skewer being twisted in my chest. It feels...like my lung is getting squeezed...harder to b-breathe."

"I see."

"What...does that mean, Ducky?"

"It means that I should perhaps try to persuade these men to let you go."

Ducky tried to get up, but Tim's grip tightened and he shook his head.

"No...you need to wait."

"For what?"

"For them to get a little less...chaotic. We don't want them...to start shooting in panic."

"Might it not be better while they are unorganized?"

"I think...they might be...on something. Logic won't work. Not yet."

"I should try," Ducky said and again tried to stand.

"No...Ducky...don't." Tim opened his eyes and using some of the energy he could scarcely stand to lose, he levered himself up briefly. "Don't...put yourself...in danger. I...don't want you...getting hurt. I can't...manage...on my own." Then, he fell back to the floor and let out a groan.

"Very well, Timothy. I will stay, but I don't like not being able help you. This is not a good situation."

"Yeah...I know." Tim's hand spasmed in Ducky's and Tim swallowed. "How long?"

"Until what?"

"Don't pretend...you don't know, Ducky."

Ducky sighed but decided not to hide it.

"Without treatment, a matter of hours I would guess, depending on how much blood is collecting in your pleural cavity."

"What does that...mean?"

"Hemothorax. The area surrounding your lung, your right lung, has been penetrated and that is why you are having trouble breathing. Blood is no doubt filling your pleural cavity even as we speak. What I don't know...and _can't_ know is how much...and how quickly. All I know is that the pleural cavity can hold nearly half your blood volume...and you could easily die of blood loss even without much being found outside your body."

Tim looked at him, eyes frightened, and he nodded as he tried to keep breathing through his pain.

"Okay...tell me another story...Ducky," he said, breathlessly. "Let's...go with fiction, this time."

Ducky forced himself to smile.

"All right, lad." Ducky wracked his brain to find something to say...and then hit upon a story. "Did you know that there are striking similarities between myths found in ancient Japan and in ancient Greece?"

"No."

"You are familiar with Greek mythology?"

"Some...not all..."

"Very well. In Greek mythology, there is a story of Orpheus and Eurydice in which Eurydice was killed and Orpheus then traveled to Hades to get her back."

"I know...that one."

"Good. Well, there is an equivalent or rather a similar story in Japanese mythology."

"Really?"

"Yes. It is found in the tale of Izanagi and Izanami, the primal couple in Japanese mythology. They went down to earth to have children, but Izanami gave birth to the Fire God, Kagutsuchi, and he burned her body and she died. Izanagi went to Yomi, the Japanese underworld, to see if he could retrieve his wife. She met him at the entrance and told him not to look at her while she went to the gods to ask them. Izanagi wanted to see his beloved wife and so he went against her wishes and lit a torch. He saw that she was a rotting corpse. Izanami was angry that Izanagi had betrayed her and so she pursued him along with a number of other deities. Izanagi reached the earth once more and blocked the entrance to Yomi with a large stone. Through the stone, the two essentially got a divorce."

"That's...a little different...from the Greek."

"Yes, a bit different indeed, but remember these are still two separate cultures. It is by no means certain why there are such similarities."

"Fascinating."

Suddenly, Tim began to breathe faster again. Then, he curled inward, pressing his free hand against his chest.

"Help...Ducky..."

"I'm so sorry, lad. I can't."

The bout of pain lasted for about five of the longest minutes in Ducky's life and then Tim was able to relax slightly and go back to the pain-filled gasps.

"I'm here, Timothy. I'm still here."

Tim squeezed Ducky's hand.

"So...am I...Ducky."

More tears from Tim's eyes as he blinked at the ceiling.

"Ducky..."

"Yes, lad?"

"Tell me...another story...please."

"Of course. How about...some stories about Odin, the ruler of Asgard?"

"Sounds good."

"All right. Odin was a god of magic and of divination. He was also a military leader..."

Ducky continued to speak, but he couldn't help noticing that Tim was growing pale, a sure sign that the hemothorax was worsening. He looked back toward the center of the car where the men were still standing, all of them still armed...without any obvious goal in mind.

He feared that Tim would die before any help could arrive.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Ducky's words increased and decreased in volume in Tim's mind. Sometimes, they seemed almost painfully loud and then other times, the pain would swell and block out the words...but at the same time, Tim appreciated Ducky's presence. All through the ebbs and flows, he could feel Ducky holding his hand. It was strange how much comfort that gave him, as well as the sound of Ducky's voice. It didn't matter what he said.

"...which is why you should be glad you don't follow the Viking view of the world. It's fairly depressing," Ducky finished...and then didn't continue speaking.

Tim smiled weakly. He squinted as Ducky looked away toward the other end of the train.

"What is it, Ducky?"

"They appear to be negotiating...on your phone."

"You think they called...Gibbs?"

"I don't know."

"I hope so...he'll get...us out..." Tim didn't bother wasting what precious breath he still possessed to point out that it was seeming less and less likely that he himself would be getting off this train at all.

Then, Tim heard a commotion beyond the throbbing pain.

"What's...going on...Ducky?" he asked.

"It looks as though they're letting the other passengers off the train. ...oh dear..."

Tim wanted to ask what that was for, but he soon saw. He forced his eyes open and lifted his head and then watched as one of the four men stormed over.

"Old man. Go."

"Not without my friend," Ducky said without the slightest hesitation.

Tim squeezed Ducky's hand.

"No...Ducky..."

The man aimed the gun right at Ducky's head, the barreling touching Ducky's skin.

"Go," he ordered. "We're letting everyone off but him. Go."

"No," Ducky said calmly. "I have told you already. I will not leave without Timothy."

"Ducky," Tim whimpered. The pain became worse and he began to see black spots in his field of vision.

Ducky leaned over him in concern.

"Hold on, Timothy."

Tim smiled a little. "I...I can't...Ducky...can't do it...anymore..."

"Close your eyes, Timothy. Don't talk. Don't listen. Don't do anything but focus on breathing."

"Can't...breathe..."

"Yes, you can. Breathe!"

Tim closed his eyes, but the world faded away into blackness.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky stared at Tim in alarm. He was pale and the bloodstain on his chest, although it wasn't large, was bad enough. It was clear that the time was swiftly approaching when it would be too late to save him. Decision made, he pulled his hand away from Tim's now-limp grasp and got to his feet. Many people did not realize that Ducky had the ability to tower...short as he was. All four of the men were taller than he, but he towered over them in his anger and his fear.

"He will die soon without medical attention. If you kill me, you have all lost your lives. Once no one is left alive on this train, you...all of you...your lives will mean nothing. They will come storming in here and you can all go down in a blaze of glory. Is that what you're after?

"We want to get out...and we will if they're worrying about _him_!"

"Idiots," Ducky said, losing his patience. "You have less chance of getting out of here scot free than...than the Scottish cricket team does of winning the Cricket World Cup this year! You have robbed a store as you shouted to the skies beforehand. You have stabbed a federal agent. You have taken people hostage. You _will_ be caught. You _will_ be serving prison time. That is the best case scenario you can hope for! What you have to decide is whether you can tolerate having a man's life on your conscience and whether or not you'd prefer to spend the rest of your natural lives in prison! I don't pretend to understand you, your motives...your lives. All I know is that I find you contemptible."

The men seemed almost surprised, as if they'd never had a tongue-lashing in their lives.

"I will _not_ leave unless and until you allow my friend to go as well," Ducky said slowly and seriously. "How many lives will you have on your hands? How many?" He looked at the four men and focused in on the one who looked the most guilty. He pointed back at Tim. "Look at him! Look at what your stupidity has done! Is this what you want?"

The phone the leader was holding began to ring. He looked almost grateful as he turned away and answered it, speaking in a voice just low enough that Ducky couldn't understand the words. He glared at the other three men until they backed away. Then, he returned to Tim, knelt down beside him and took hold of his hand again.

"Timothy," he said softly.

Only the slight rise and fall of his chest served as evidence of Tim's continued life. Ducky took Tim's pulse. It was weak and rushing. Time was running out.

"I'm going to keep talking, Timothy. I refuse to believe that you are lost. You cannot lose hope of survival. Almost all of us have heard the tale of Pandora's box...in some form or another, but there is more to the tale than is often known by the average Westerner. Prometheus was the brother-in-law of Pandora. Pandora was created by the gods because Prometheus refused to allow mankind to be placed below the gods. During his time, the time of the Titans, men were treated as equals. After Zeus took over Mt. Olympus, the Titans were defeated. Prometheus did not fight against Zeus, but he resented the conquering of his people. He placed himself on the side of mankind and served as their protector."

Ducky paused in his tale and looked back. The men were now arguing, quietly, but it was clear that they were not of one accord.

Suddenly, Ducky felt a slight pressure on his hand. He looked back quickly. Tim's eyes were still closed. His breathing was getting worse...but it was clear that he was still in there...somewhere. Ducky smiled.

"Well, as I was saying, Zeus was angry and as punishment refused to allow mankind the ability to make fire. He wanted to keep them downtrodden and beholden to the gods. Prometheus, in his stubbornness, refused to accept this punishment. He stole a flame from the forge of Hephaestus and took it down from Olympus, hidden in a fennel stalk. Zeus, of course, was angry at this flouting of his authority, and he set out to punish both mankind _and_ Prometheus. First, he had Hephaestus forge Pandora. She was given as a wife to Epimetheus, the brother of Prometheus...and she was also given a box, the contents of which she did not know, but longed to know. As you know, eventually, she opened the box and the evils of the world spilled...save for hope. That is not the end of the tale. Can you hear me, Timothy?"

Ducky waited. There was another squeeze. He returned it.

"Good. Many have forgotten about poor Prometheus, the champion of mankind. Zeus could not kill him. Prometheus was a Titan and immortal. Thus, as punishment for trying to help others, Prometheus was chained to a rock and every day an eagle came and pecked at his liver which would then regrow overnight...so that he could suffer the pain anew the next day. Day in and day out for all eternity. A tragic tale...and yet, still, this is not the end. Prometheus did _not_ have to suffer for eternity. Heracles, better known as Hercules, came and set him free. It took thousands of years of agony, but eventually, it ended. That can happen for you, as well, Timothy...but you must hold on."

"He's right!"

Ducky looked back.

"I don't want to be a murderer!"

"Don't listen to that guy! He's just..."

"He's worried about that guy you stabbed, Mike! What did you do it for?"

"Hey! Don't start that again!"

"Dan's right. That old guy's right. They're not gonna let us just walk out of here. Why would they? We're stuck on a subway train! If you hadn't stabbed that guy we would have got off with no trouble! This is all your fault, Mike! You stupid..."

"This isn't getting us anywhere!"

"And your 'negotiating' isn't either, idiot!"

"What do you want me to do? Huh? You want to go to prison?"

"I don't want to be a murderer!"

The man with the phone pulled out Tim's gun.

"I'm not going to prison! Got that?"

Ducky watched with growing worry.

"You'd kill me, Mike?"

"I'm not going to prison."

"I'm not going to be a murderer. We've got to let them go."

"I'm with Dan."

"Yeah, you _would_ be."

Suddenly, Tim stiffened and began to shake.

"Timothy!" Ducky said.

Tim stopped breathing.

"No."

He began performing CPR. He only paid a bit of attention to the argument.

"I'm not going to be a murderer, Mike!"

There was a shot, and Ducky looked back over his shoulder. One of the four men was on the floor...no longer holding the gun _or_ the phone. The three remaining men looked at each other and then one ran out of the train.

"We give up! Come in!"

Ducky turned back to Tim, continuing CPR until he felt someone beside him.

"Excuse me, sir. We'll take it from here."

Reluctantly, Ducky backed away and let the EMTs move in. He stood up and stared down at them as they moved Tim to the gurney, still working on getting him breathing again.

A hand dropped onto his shoulder and Ducky looked back briefly.

"Jethro."

"Hey, Duck."

The EMTs rushed Tim out and Ducky sank onto the seat he'd shared with Tim only a few hours before.

Ducky shook his head. "I don't know if he'll make it."

"What happened?" Gibbs asked.

"Which part?"

"How did this start?"

"They got on, started getting wild. Timothy tried to get off and got in their way...and that was the result."

"What about him?" Gibbs asked, pointing to the body on the floor.

"He started threatening his cohorts with Timothy's gun. I assume they disliked the idea. I wasn't watching. Timothy had stopped breathing."

Gibbs sat down beside him and put an arm around his shoulders.

"I felt so helpless, Jethro."

Gibbs said nothing.

"Is NCIS in charge?"

"Don't know. Involves NCIS personnel, but not really involving the Navy. Metro wants them."

"They can have them for all I care. I only want Timothy to make it."

"You want to go to the hospital?"

"Yes."

"All right. Let's go."

Ducky paused and looked at the place where Timothy had lain. There was no sign of him. Not even any blood.

"Yes. I want nothing more."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It was a long wait at the hospital. Tim was rushed into surgery with a severe hemothorax, major blood loss, and hypoxia. For Ducky, being newly confronted with the world outside the Metro station was a bit jarring. He was asked for a statement by Metro police. Reporters had tried to get him to say something. ...and all he wanted was to be sure that Tim was going to survive, that the delay of care was not going to kill him. He didn't even care about the three men who had been arrested and hauled away.

Everyone else came as soon as they could, but Ducky felt separated from them somehow. His mind kept going back to the train, to sitting beside Tim, watching him weakening.

"Ducky?"

The voice gradually penetrated Ducky's haze. He looked over and realized that Abby had seated herself beside him and was hugging him tightly.

"Yes, Abigail?"

"You look awful, Ducky. Maybe you should go home."

Ducky smiled. "No, Abigail. I will stay until I know that Timothy will recover."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I am quite certain."

Abby nodded, but instead of letting him go as he expected, she scooted closer.

"You can lean on me, Ducky. It's okay. I won't let you fall."

Ducky hesitated and then accepted the comfort Abby was offering. He put his arm around her and leaned his head on her shoulder.

"It'll be okay, Ducky," Abby said quietly. "I know it will."

Ducky took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He couldn't answer, couldn't agree. Abby hadn't seen how badly Tim had been hurt. She hadn't watched him slowly fade away. ...but he didn't have the heart to disagree with her either.

Instead, he just sat beside her and looked around the room. Tony and Ziva were both asleep, and Gibbs was standing vigil, his eyes on the doors leading to the OR where Tim had been taken.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Hours later, Abby was asleep. Tony and Ziva were asleep. Even Gibbs had relaxed enough to sit down. Ducky was still awake and it was he who stood first when a surgeon finally came out to talk to them.

"Hello, you're here about Timothy McGee?"

Gibbs stood as well.

"Yes," Ducky said. "Is he–?"

"He survived the surgery. He'd lost a _lot_ of blood, and it took some time to control the internal bleeding. Currently, we're more worried about what kind of damage might have resulted from his lowered respiration, and we won't know that until he wakes up."

"He has not yet awakened?" Ducky asked.

"No. He's on a ventilator and will be for a few days while we monitor the drainage from the chest tube. We're optimistic that he'll regain consciousness soon. Now, has someone contacted his family?"

Ducky looked at Gibbs. He had to admit it hadn't even crossed his mind.

"His parents are in England," Gibbs said. "We don't have their number. We're trying to track them down."

"All right. He's in the ICU until we're sure that his lung is able to maintain positive pressure."

"May I see him?" Ducky asked.

"Certainly. This way."

Ducky paused briefly and looked questioningly at Gibbs.

"Jethro?"

"Go on. I'll stay out here. Let everyone know."

"Thank you."

Ducky followed the doctor to the quiet ICU, the silence broken only by machines keeping regular rhythms. He walked over and sat down beside Tim. He didn't look a whole lot better than he had when lying on the floor of the train. The most important difference was that he was not bleeding...and that, while his breathing was being undertaken mechanically, he was currently was getting enough oxygen. He was going to survive.

And yet...

"Oh, Timothy."

Ducky took hold of a limp hand and ignored the beeping heart monitor, the clicking of the ventilator.

"You must recover, Timothy. I remembered where my parents were taking me on my first trip on the Underground."

Tim made no response. His chest rose and fell in a constant rhythm. The tube emerging from his chest contained a small amount of fluid. Another tube ran from an IV stand down to Tim's hand. Nor was that the only IV. There were two other tubes.

Ducky sighed but then smiled to himself.

"Would you like to hear another story, Timothy?"

There was no squeezing of his hand this time, but Ducky was determined not to show his worry now.

"Well, let's see...something from British history is called for, I believe. Don't you agree?"

Still nothing.

"Let me tell you about Francis Bacon, the alleged inventor of the scientific method. Now, not to put down my own heritage, but the claim is ridiculous, as if no one ever followed the same method before the 1500s. Untrue. However, Francis Bacon was quite a character and deserves credit where credit is due. Speaking of credit, poor Bacon was in debt much of his life. He was the son of the Lord Keeper of the Great Seal and became a barrister. He was knighted, became a chancellor and then a viscount but was convicted of bribery and lost his chancellorship. He was actually imprisoned in the Tower of London for a few days because of a 40,000-pound fine that he could not pay."

Ducky settled back in his chair and began to relate more stories from Francis Bacon's life.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"...and then, finally, we come to his death...which I like to call 'death by frozen chicken'." Ducky laughed quietly to himself.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Ducky looked away from Tim for the first time in the two hours he'd been there.

"Yes?"

The nurse smiled. "I just came to check on his stats. It won't take a moment."

"Of course. I will get out of your way."

Ducky made to stand up, but as he began to move, there was a slight movement of the hand he was holding. He paused.

"Timothy?"

The ventilator clicked over a few times and then there was a flicker of Tim's eyelids.

The green irises appeared for a brief moment and then vanished again. Ducky sat beside Tim's bed.

"Timothy, can you hear me? If you're awake, squeeze my hand."

Again, the weak pressure. Ducky smiled.

"He's awake."

"That's wonderful," the nurse said. "I'll check him over and then get his doctor."

Ducky reluctantly relinquished Tim's hand and stepped back. He was aware that he'd already stayed longer than was generally allowed. He could only assume that Gibbs had made that possible. After a few minutes, the nurse finished her check.

"You can come back now," she said softly.

"Thank you." Ducky resumed his seat and took Tim's hand again. "Timothy?"

The eyelids fluttered open again and Tim's eyes moved around slowly.

"I'm right here."

His head tilted toward Ducky's voice, and gradually, Tim's eyes found him. He smiled vaguely.

"You made it, Timothy."

Tim squeezed Ducky's hand and his mouth moved.

"You can't talk just now, Timothy."

Tim's eyes drifted to the ceiling and he tried to form a word.

"Do you wish me to finish my story?"

There was a slight nod.

"I can do that. You may close your eyes. I will not be offended."

Tim's eyelids instantly drooped, but his grip on Ducky's hand told Ducky that he was still awake.

"Very well. While Sir Francis Bacon was traveling through the snow to Highgate with the king's physician, he was suddenly struck by a thought. What if snow could be used to preserve meat? Being the experimenter he was...or at least the experimenter he aspired to be, Bacon instantly resolved to try it out. He and the physician went to a farmhouse. They bought and then requested that the farm woman there exenterate a fowl. Then, they went out into the snowy night and stuffed the disemboweled bird with snow and observed it for a period of time. This proved fatal. He contracted pneumonia which led to his death only two or three days after his brilliant idea. That is what a seventeenth-century historian claims, at any rate. Thus, death by frozen chicken."

Tim smiled and, for Ducky, that was the greatest comfort of all. Even when the doctor came and added his own encouragement to that of the nurse, even when it was clear that Tim's injury had not permanently damaged him...even with all that...it was that small, tired smile, acknowledging the end of a story, that gave Ducky the most hope. Tim had listened to him...and he had enjoyed the story.

That was enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_Two days later..._

"...and I must confess that I've always wondered if the Chinese really thought that a wall, a large one to be sure, but still only a wall, with two ends, would really keep out invaders. I saw it in my younger days. It is quite an amazing sight...but contrary to popular belief, it is _not_ visible from space. Astronauts have seen it with telescopes and with binoculars, but not with their unaided eye. That is a myth. Even Chinese astronauts have admitted that they could not see it, not even from low-earth orbit."

Tim smiled...sort of. He was still on the ventilator as his lung continued to heal. The chest tube would remain in place for at least five days more, but they were hoping to take out the endotracheal ventilator in another day or two. He was also still on some heavy-duty painkillers which made him a little loopy. Then, there were the IVs, the heart monitor...all the accouterments which went along with having been a critically-injured patient.

He lay back for a few seconds and then picked up the notepad Ducky had brought him. He wrote a few words and then handed it to Ducky.

_How long is it?_

"Didn't I say?" Ducky asked.

Tim shook his head.

"My apologies. The full length of the wall is over 5000 miles, but that includes constructed walls, as well as natural obstructions such as hills. Much of the original wall is in a state of considerable disrepair. They have discovered new parts of it as recently as a few years ago. Many stretches have crumbled or are the targets of graffiti. It is only in the tourist areas that the wall looks much as it must have centuries ago."

Tim smiled briefly and then lay back and stared at the ceiling. It was clear that, if he'd had any control over his breathing, he would have sighed. Ducky patted his shoulder.

"Jethro managed to track down your parents. They were horrified and are trying to get an early flight back."

Tim looked at Ducky and started to shake his head.

"Before you attempt to protest, Timothy, let me remind you that they are your parents and nothing anyone could have said would have kept them from coming."

Tim grimaced and rubbed gently at the area around the chest tube. Then, he picked up the notepad again and wrote.

_Seems so stupid, doesn't it?_

"What?"

Tim wrote again.

_All this...just because some guys robbed a store. I wasn't even trying to stop them._

"I know. It seems ridiculous that it could happen as it did...but I must confess that I'm very grateful you are here, even in this state."

Tim looked away for a few seconds and Ducky wondered if he should be worried, if perhaps he had said something wrong, but then, Tim picked up the pen and notepad once more. He wasn't looking at Ducky as he wrote. It was more than usual. Tim had found it a bit frustrating to write in order to communicate and short, terse sentences worked better. After a few silent minutes, Tim looked up and Ducky was surprised to see tears in his eyes, although he was smiling, albeit slightly hindered by the tube coming out of his mouth.

_I'm so glad you were there with me, Ducky. I thought for sure I was going to die back there, and hearing you talk to me kept me from being as afraid. I can't ever thank you enough for staying with me, for refusing to leave, for doing what you could to help me. Thank you._

Ducky squeezed Tim's shoulder.

"Oh, there is no need for thanks, Timothy. I only wish I could have done more to help you. Telling you stories seems like a poor substitute for the medical aid you so desperately needed."

Tim shook his head...and then wrote more.

_No, Ducky. You could never know how much it meant to hear you._

Ducky felt tears in his own eyes.

"Perhaps not...but I can see that my words meant more to you than I thought."

Tim shook his head and wrote one short sentence.

_It wasn't the words._

Ducky watched as Tim settled down on the bed once more, clearly tired out by the limited conversation. Tim closed his eyes and slowly eased back into the sleep that would bring him closer to the healing he needed. Only then did Ducky allow himself one small luxury. He gently tussled Tim's hair and then moved it off his forehead.

"Perhaps it was what we both needed, lad," Ducky said softly.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Two days later..._

Tim finally passed his spontaneous breathing test and the doctors decided it was time to take him off the ventilator. The McGees arrived the same day Tim was shifted to independent breathing. He was still receiving assistance in his respiration, but it allowed him to breathe at his own rate.

Ducky had been there at the beginning, but after Sam and Naomi arrived, he had excused himself to give the McGee family time alone. His other friends and colleagues had come and gone during visiting hours, but Ducky had been an almost-constant presence that Tim had appreciated...and found that he missed, particularly at night when he was alone. Granted, he was sleeping a lot, but as the sedation had been reduced and his sleep became more natural, Tim found that he had nightmares of those horrible moments on the floor of the subway car...only without Ducky. Instead, he was just alone there in a silent world filled with pain.

It was a long night, punctuated by periods of sleeping and waking. In fact, Tim was relieved when morning finally arrived and visiting hours began again. His parents would come eventually, but he knew they were still jetlagged from their quick flight to DC. He still felt bad about interrupting their vacation.

So he wasn't sure about when they would come...and everyone else would be at work. Tim resigned himself to hours of boredom, with nothing to distract him from his scratchy throat, from the painful breathing...from the seemingly-unending _time_ stretching out in front of him. He might have to give in and watch some mindless drivel on the TV.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," Tim croaked and then winced. Raising his voice hurt in more ways than one right now. He grabbed an ice chip and began sucking on it as the door opened.

"Good morning, Timothy."

"Ducky," Tim rasped and smiled. "Hi."

"Hello. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Tim laughed but then winced.

"Not...at all. Come on in."

"Thank you." Ducky walked over and sat down beside the bed.

"I thought you'd be at work," Tim whispered.

"Not yet, I'm afraid. They've insisted that I take some time off to deal with the trauma. Not that I faced nearly the problems you did."

"It must have been hard for you," Tim said. "I just...had to lay there...but you..."

Ducky waved that away.

"No, lad. I won't deny that it was hard to watch, but my troubles are tolerable."

Tim wasn't sure what to say. He felt strangely-calmed by Ducky's presence, but he didn't know how to tell him that.

"Ducky?"

"Yes, Timothy?"

"Where did you go?"

"Go?"

"When...on the...subway in London. I...thought you'd remembered."

"I did, but I didn't realize you heard me say that I had."

"I don't...really know when it was."

"No matter. It was a typical tourist destination. Piccadilly Circus. I believe we went to the Criterion Theatre...only don't ask me what play we saw. I dare say that it wasn't to my tastes at the time."

Tim smiled.

"Ducky?"

"Yes, lad?"

"Thank you." Tim regretted that his voice was so raspy right now. It wasn't much better than when he had been restricted to written communication.

"You've already thanked me once, Timothy. I promise. It's not necessary."

Tim sat up and shook his head. "No...you said that before. It's not true. Thank you...so..." He was embarrassed to find that he was about to cry. "...so...much. All last night...every time...I got to sleep...I dreamed of...of being back there." Tim took a quick breath and let it out slowly. "Only you weren't...there with me. I was...all alone. I couldn't...couldn't have done it alone. Thank you, Ducky."

Ducky leaned over and hugged Tim just barely shy of too tightly.

"Oh, Timothy. I would never have left you alone there...to face that by yourself."

"I know. Still...thank you so much."

"Anytime, Timothy. Anytime at all."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_One month later..._

Tim knew he hadn't been ready to go back to work up to this point, but that didn't mean he wasn't impatient to go back to work. He was home. Tomorrow would be his first chance to get back to NCIS...desk duty only, but that was okay. He wouldn't be sitting around his apartment, bored out of his mind.

As for tonight...

There was a knock on the door. Tim smiled because he knew who it would be. He walked over and looked through the peephole.

Yep.

He opened the door.

"Ducky, I told you. You don't have to keep cooking for me now. I'm feeling much better."

Ducky came inside, laden with bags.

"Nevertheless, I'd be remiss to discontinue until you return to NCIS."

"I'm going back tomorrow."

"Then, you have not yet returned."

Tim laughed, felt a slight twinge and rubbed at his chest. Ducky didn't miss the movement.

"Still some pain?"

"A little. The doctor said it takes time for lungs to heal completely. He also said that I'll never be allowed to go scuba diving. Good thing that wasn't on my list of things to do."

"Yes, I suppose so."

Ducky quickly opened his bags, pulling out various dishes. Then, he made Tim sit while he served. Tim didn't protest. He liked the company, and Ducky had not yet repeated a single tale. Tonight, however, they ate in companionable silence...until the meal was almost complete.

"Timothy, I've been meaning to ask you a question."

"What?"

"I wanted to know what you meant when you wrote that it wasn't the words I said that were important."

"Oh..." Tim looked down at his plate. Things that had been easy to say when he was seriously injured and partially drugged were harder when he felt normal. "It...It was just from a quote my dad said once."

"Really? I'm intrigued. What is it?"

Tim flushed a little and then looked at Ducky. "It's by Henry David Thoreau. 'The language of friendship is not words but meanings.'"

Ducky looked at his own plate.

"Timothy...I'm...I feel most privileged that you would consider me a friend."

Tim smiled. "I feel privileged to _have_ you as a friend...and I never knew how right Thoreau was until that night on the train."

"Thank you, Timothy."

"For what?"

Ducky looked up and smiled. "For understanding."

Tim laughed a little. "I don't understand."

"For understanding what my words truly meant beyond the stories I was telling."

That was all. No words were needed.

FINIS!


End file.
